Unsent Postcards
by timeiscontagious
Summary: The villagers were safe. She was safe. Why would he stay?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries. Except for this.

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She chose Stefan. It was always Stefan.

So Damon left.

The danger that plagued them for so long ended. The villagers were safe. She was safe. He was no longer needed. Why would he stay? To watch her and Stefan build a life in which the only part he would possess would be that of bystander?

Thanks but no thanks. He may be a masochist but even that didn't appeal to him.

So one night he dropped everything. The only goodbye he said was to Elena who was asleep so she didn't even hear it.

And he left. Without as much as a glance back.

But where would he go? The man had eternity and the ability to make anyone do anything. He could go anywhere.

He chose Europe.

It had been years so why not? There was nothing holding him back.

He traveled to London then Paris, back to Dublin and Glasgow. He visited the Vatican and laughed at the people who had no idea that evil walked amongst them on their hallowed ground.

He stood in the finest hotels, ate the most delectable food, bedded the most desirable women, and drank the sweetest blood.

The world was his oyster so to speak, and he relished it.

Despite the fun he had and the occasional chaos he caused, there was always that little pang in his heart. Every time he saw a girl with an enchanting smile or a bewitching look, he took her.

And he treated her the way he would have treated Elena.

He showered them with gifts and compelled the most celebrated fashion designers to create masterpieces for them to wear. He ravaged them and then…

He left.

In the middle of the night.

But he never said goodbye.

Because in the end, they weren't Elena, and they didn't deserve his goodbyes.

Off he would go to his next destination without so much as a glance back.

He never told anyone this, but he wrote to her. Not much. Just artsy postcards with phrases like _thought of you today_ or _bought you a necklace and then threw it in the Seine_.

He never sent them. He just carried them around like a marble weight. No matter how far he was from her, there was always that link.

He couldn't completely let her go.

And he lied.

The first time…

He did look back.


	2. Chapter 2

The man in the mirror never lies.

At least that's what people say.

Right now, the man in the mirror is stark naked and lying next to a rather old but strangely attractive and very rich widow. He picked her up in Barcelona, her Spanish accent making his groin pulse and his mouth water. After rounds of drinks, some flirting, and a bit of dancing, she brought him back to her mansion. It was ornate but not gaudy. She was old money with good taste.

And she had a flair for the kink.

Mirrors on her ceiling and an assortment of gadgets. None of which they ended up using.

His thirst was unbearable. The moment she closed the bedroom door, he was ripping into her. Blood oozed from between his teeth, trickling down her white Dolce & Gabbana summer dress.

Afterwards, he repaid the favor, and now he's lying in her bed. Her blood has stained the sheets. Egyptian cotton. They're going to be a bitch to remove.

He stands up, not bothering to grab his clothes and walks onto the balcony. He hears the woman move her feet across the sheets but knows she won't be rising anytime soon.

It's a full moon in the middle of July. The air feels like waves across his skin.

It's been a year since he's seen Elena. He wonders what she's up to. If she's still with Stefan. If she's happy.

He stares up at the moon and tries to remember the sound of her voice.

He can't.

So instead, he just wishes she were here.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes he's tempted to call her.

Just to hear her voice.

It's not ideal or particularly natural, but there it is.

He's in Amsterdam by the canal, watching tourist boats go by. It amazes him the amount of beauty one could see if they looked hard enough. Elena was like that. She'd find the good in everyone even if it didn't exist.

He on the other hand only saw sewage.

And waste.

And evil.

That is why they would never have worked. They were too different. She's better suited for Stefan, for the man who spent his life trying to repent for his sins.

Fuck redemption, goes through Damon's mind. He never wanted to be redeemed. He never once asked for forgiveness. And he's not about to start now. It's not his style.

He stands by the canal with the icy wind rustling his hair.

He takes out his phone.

He dials.

He needs to hear her voice.

Just once more.


	4. Chapter 4

She was asleep.

He could hear it in her voice.

He forgot about the time difference. That where he is, is not where she is. You would think he would have figured that out by now, but he was trapped in his reverie, and it never occurred to him.

But she was awake now.

She calls "hello" into the phone, but he does not answer. He is frozen on the other end, here in Amsterdam. His plan never progressed past the thought of calling her. The phrases he thought about for so long now do not come to him. He thought this would be simple. He thought hearing her voice would be enough to shake him out of his self-destructive mode. But his tongue is frozen and his lips do not move. He stands on the side of the canal with the phone in his hand, saying nothing.

And yet, she knows it's him.

She whispers his name into the phone, not so much a question as a statement. He has no choice now but to answer. He clears his throat and just when he is about to speak, he hears rustling on the other end. Then Stefan's voice is on the line. He too calls out Damon's name.

Where are you? Are you okay?

This is a new development. And it unnerves him. If anything would shake him out of his illusions of love, this would be it. He did not plan on Stefan being beside her in bed, but he should have.

He should have.

Stefan says the words that Damon had hoped to hear from Elena.

Come home. It would be nice to see you again.

Damon hangs up.


	5. Chapter 5

First, I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. I seriously hope everyone enjoyed it. Second, this is the longest and last chapter of the story. I think it's a good stopping point for Damon. So, please read and enjoy!

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He wandered around Europe for awhile.

He doesn't remember where he went or how he got there. All he knows is that there was a lot of movement, a lot of clambering. He remembers being jostled. Remembers being driven by the wave of bodies rushing to make trains and planes, buses and taxis.

There were no real thoughts in his head. It was all clutter. All he heard was white noise.

He shouldn't have expected anything. He allowed himself to hope, and it was the worst thing he could have done for himself. When would he let her go? When would he stop torturing himself with dreams that would never materialize, that would never come to fruition?

He was in a ferryboat bathroom when he finally awoke from his self-pitying stupor. He looked into the mirror and saw the gray-toned face of a dying man. There were circles under his eyes that looked as if someone had pushed their thumbs into clay. Sheens of sweat lay over his skin, adding to the already unkempt look of stubble and dirty clothes. He couldn't remember the last time he bathed or the last time he ate. He was surprised to have survived this long without decaying into ash.

He did the best he could with what was available: a temperamental sink, some flimsy paper towels, and a ferry worker. By the time he emerged, he looked somewhat presentable but still groggy and lightheaded. Still feeling as if he had been torn in half by jagged teeth. He took in his surroundings and deduced he was somewhere off the coast of Italy, only confirming this when the ferry left him off at Naples.

He hopped in a taxi and made his way to the nearest airport. He couldn't stay in Europe anymore. He was sick of its clash of modern and middle-aged beauty, of seeing a Starbucks next to a 500 year old building. As twisted as it sounds, he felt this hit too close to home.

At the airport, he compelled a businesswoman to give him her credit card, which he then used to buy a ticket and some new clothes. He felt sick the moment he searched his pockets and found all those fucking postcards he had so dutifully written and never sent. What a fucking pussy.

On the plane, he drank too much and watched the awful in-flight movie before snacking on a stewardess in the cramped bathroom. He was being reckless and didn't care. He was hoping for some kind of confrontation, but none came. It was just as well. He wouldn't really have had the energy.

He landed in New Delhi.

He doesn't know why he chose this particular region. He wanted something foreign. Something distant. Something that would drive a wedge between him and his sick obsession with his brother's girlfriend. India sounded nice. India sounded far enough away so as to stretch the ties to Mystic Falls, maybe even snap them.

He made his way to the train station, getting into a rickety taxi and sitting patiently while the driver twisted and turned, fighting his way through a traffic of markets and pedestrians. He barely made the train to Kanpur, but a few hours and a tasty Indian woman later, there he was.

Now he stands on the shore of the Ganges River, staring into the distance and trying to ignore the smell of the sewage. A breeze stirs the air, however brief, and he can smell smoke and spices. There is a funeral occurring a few yards from him. All of the attendants dressed in white, scattering a loved one's ashes and a handful of flowers into the water.

According to Hindu belief, immersing oneself in the river cleanses one from all of their sins and frees them from reincarnation. It is a pathway to heaven.

The river is one of the most polluted waterways in the world, and people die from its consumption. He walks into the water anyway. He's a vampire, and whatever is in this water that kills people will not kill him. All of those unsent postcards float out of his pockets and begin to drift along with the current, taking pieces of his heart with him.

But he is still here.

He dives into the water much to the dismay of others.

Secretly, he prays that the belief is true.


End file.
